


the voices of those who stand looking

by capra



Category: Figure Skating RPF
Genre: A lot - Freeform, LOTS OF CUSSING (sorry not sorry), M/M, Vent Piece, actual tags include:, and you should be allowed to believe that, i am so mad on his behalf, i whipped this up in 1 h 30 min, instead of the horrible undercutting they keep giving you, knife shoes appreciation society, ksas, shoma you are wonderful and you deserve the world, this morning's news was, to the point that you believe it yourself, you have EARNED the world
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-22
Updated: 2018-12-22
Packaged: 2019-09-24 20:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17107733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/capra/pseuds/capra
Summary: "I’m only reigning champion due to how results turned out. No one thinks I’ve really won the titles or that I’m the best skater in Japan, I don’t even think that. But as a competitive skater, I do feel like I can’t accept losing, even when Takahashi-senshu is competing again."Shoma gives this quote after his short program at Japan Nationals.Yuzu reads this, and calls his boyfriend.





	the voices of those who stand looking

**Author's Note:**

  * For [unos](https://archiveofourown.org/users/unos/gifts).



> Here be ~~dragons~~ a lot of F-bombs. You've been warned.
> 
> Title and end quote from "Stairway To Heaven" by Led Zepplin.  
> Translation of Shoma's interview quote by @yawning-shoma on Twitter
> 
> This story is based on a narrow range of cherrypicked personality qualities culled from my personal and very biased interpretation of the publically available personas of real human beings who are, I am quite certain, not similar at all to how they're depicted here.
> 
> If you hit play on Stairway (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iXQUu5Dti4g) shortly after you start reading this, it will hit its chaos climax right around the point that Yuzu's stress hits its noisiest, and I didn't do that on purpose but it's a fun thing you should experience.
> 
> In short, it's complete fiction.

He saw it in the news over breakfast.

More specifically, on his Twitter feed, because that’s where the live updates from the post-short program presser were coming through fastest.

_ “I’m only reigning champion due to how results turned out. No one thinks I’ve really won the titles or that I’m the best skater in Japan, I don’t even think that. But as a competitive skater, I do feel like I’m determined. I can’t accept losing, even when Takahashi-senshu is competing again.” _

He finished the time conversion in his head in a split second, but it took another four or five before he was able to convince himself not to instantly ring Shoma’s cell. He  _ wanted _ to, with every fiber of his being he wanted to, but was that what was right for  _ Shoma _ ?

He put his breakfast dishes in the sink. Brushed his teeth in the bathroom, staring at himself in the mirror, trying to work out what to do.

It’s ten AM in Toronto, and past midnight in Japan, and Shoma’s surely in need of rest, ice, food, sleep. Boyfriends or no boyfriends, does he really need a call from Yuzu right now, when all that’s on his mind is Yuzu and Takahashi Daisuke and every way that Shoma will never believe that he does in fact measure up to them? 

Anything Yuzu wants to say to him, Mihoko and Yamada-san were surely already telling him. He needs to stay focused - and whether he’s gaming or sleeping or watching tape, Yuzu doesn’t know and doesn’t need to know. This is Shoma’s fight, and for Yuzu to insert himself into it, to interrupt Shoma’s night and paste his own concerns and his worries and his need for information and reassurance overtop of Shoma’s own, would be extremely selfish and more than a little egotistical.

And gods know that  _ other _ voices do that more than enough.

Yuzu crosses from the bathroom into his bedroom. Sitting on the edge of his bed, he pulls his ankle up onto his lap and begins palpating it, fingers moving on autopilot, feeling the contours of bone, muscle, and tendon, checking for changes. The process takes five minutes if he rushes, but today he needs time to think, and he spends ten.

The nastiness from the press never stopped. When he was at Nationals, the refrain was  _ Uno performed admirably, considering he never really had a chance because Hanyu’s here _ . And when he missed the competition,  _ Uno maintained his hold on the championship due to Hanyu’s absence. _ Yuzu has no doubt that with Takahashi-senshu back in the mix it will become all the more difficult to find any headline,  _ anywhere _ , that simply says,  _ Uno won because he skated best. Because that’s what he does, dammit. _

Even without the profanity, to see Japanese press give Shoma his fair due - simply a plain, genuine acknowledgement of his skill - feels like an impossibility. 

The press had been in a frenzy for months after Takahashi announced his return. But instead of talking about the way that the rising generation - that’s  _ Sota _ , you dumbasses - had inspired the elder generation -- or in a broader sense, the vivid legacy of skating being built in Japan right now and the interconnectedness of inspiration -- or even the question of quad generation versus the six-point system generation --

Instead of any of that, the press, in all their wisdom, had come out the gate wondering if Takahashi wanted revenge for Sochi.

_ Sochi _ .

And of course, that had stuck. Gone was any memory of his contentedness in the years following his retirement. Gone was the respect for the decision he’d made at the time, and never even  _ present _ was any sort of acknowledgement that there is a season for everything, and that Takahashi’s  _ correct _ path was clearly the one he’d taken, and was still taking now.

And, utterly under the rug, the single story that Yuzu had most hoped to see: an article about the inspiration that Takahashi-senshu had lent to Japanese National Champion Uno-senshu as a Junior, including a developed speculation about how the two would inspire each other to greater heights now upon Takahashi-senshu’s return. It would have been journalistic gold and an incredible read.

_ But to do that they’d have to acknowledge there’s more skaters in Japan than me. _

As Nationals got closer, the press started up the engine once more. And once Yuzu announced his withdrawl, they furor-whipped their audiences into nostalgic chaos over the ‘missed opportunity’ to see a ‘repeat showdown’ between Hanyu and Takahashi-senshu.

And they  _ still _ completely ignored their actual  _ reigning national champion _ standing perfectly hale, sturdy, powerful and ready in the middle of the whole mess.

Yuzu pushes his hair back from his face with a headband and bends over the sink, tipping his face close to the tap to splash it with hot water. Eyes closed, he can too clearly see the expression on Shoma’s face when he told Yuzu about his reaction to Takahashi’s announcement. There had been so much conflict in his eyes, and despite the limitations of slightly pixelated video and insufficient bandwidth, Yuzu had seen every flicker of emotion that crossed them. He had felt it every time Shoma’s mouth twisted down at the corners, every time his brow furrowed and his lips thinned before he spoke. Felt it like a blade between his ribs.

And now -- well, now it wasn’t all come to fruition  _ yet _ , but it might be, it  _ could _ be, tomorrow, or the next day. And Yuzu knows that dread, that fatalism, is lurking, waiting for Shoma in his hotel room.

But Shoma has people with him. He isn’t dependent on Yuzu to swoop in and save him from maudlin thoughts or momentary frustrations. Yuzu remembers the fond but reaching-the-end-of-his-patience laugh Shoma had given him, last time they were together in the same place, sharing a small bit of time, a precious privacy. And Yuzu’d nearly ruined it by fretting.

“Stop trying to helicopter parent your boyfriend.” Shoma had laughed, to soften the blow, but it was a valid one, and Yuzu took it without complaint. He’d backed down. And in general, Yuzu knows, he is pretty darn good about keeping his fretting under control, or at least  _ to himself _ . He respects Shoma, and Shoma’s choices about how to handle his own problems -- boot or otherwise.

It’s nearly midnight in Japan. He  _ mustn’t _ call.

Yuzu stands up, towels the water and suds off his face. Frustration makes him scrub harder than he needs to, and his skin is pinked and feeling a bit raw when he puts the towel down and marches into his bedroom to get dressed.

The interview quote keeps rattling around in his head as he pulls on his training gear, an extra layer because it’s brisk today and considering today’s schedule he needs to keep his core extra warm for flexibility. It chews at his ear while he checks the contents of his bag, switches out his blade wiping towel for a clean one, squints at his water bottle and tries to remember how long ago he changed the filter. 

Yuzu remembers the tightly-pressed corners of Shoma’s lips the last time they’d spoken.

_ “It’s good you’ve withdrawn, Yuzu. It’s definitely the right thing to do. It’ll be good for you for the future, not just for now.” _

_ “I’m still sorry I’ll miss competing with you at Nationals, Sho,”  _ he’d said, meaning every word, but Shoma’s answering smile had been tight and just the slightest bit forced. Like a layer of clear film across a window. You’d barely even notice it was there, unless you were canny enough to notice the wrinkle.

_ “Don’t be,”  _ Shoma had said.  _ “I’ve got it. I’ll take care of everything for you.” _

“For me?” Yuzu grumbles, still irritated about that subtle, probably completely unconscious demonstration of Shoma’s perpetual self-erasure. “Stupid.” 

He stomps his feet into his sneakers, ties the laces too tightly in frustration. Forces himself to take the time to untie, loosen, and properly re-tie them, so when he stands up there’s still enough room for the added thickness of the ace bandage wrap around his foot.

The reports said Shoma had been limping. He hadn’t seen anything but hearsay on that count, but he  _ did  _ see the video from his short. The knee slide - 

Shoma  _ never _ grimaces like that.

Yuzu chews his lip, settles his earphones into his ears. This pair has flexible wire earhooks that keep them secure, and he molds them into place with careful fingers that definitely aren’t beginning to shake from frustration, and suppression of the same.

_ Nobody thinks I’ve really won the titles, _

“Fuck.” Yuzu spits out the expletive, shucks off his backpack, pulls his earphones out of his ears with far more force than should be used on a $600 pair of earphones. 

He doesn’t fucking care right now.

The phone rings six times, and goes to voicemail.  The next time, it rings only twice before clicking to voicemail, and that tells Yuzu that while his first call may have been legitimately missed, the second was noticed and silenced.

He digs in his heels and calls again. Twice more, until he finally has a very, very irritated  _ national fucking champion _ on the line.

But at least he’s got him.

“Sho.”

Yuzu can all too clearly picture the expression Shoma’s making. It’s nearly a snarl, with the way his brow pulls down, his upper lip curls up, his nose scrunches down.

“What do you  _ want _ , Yuzu,” Shoma sighs, too tired to even manage a proper grumble. “It is midnight. I am tired.”

“I wanted to make sure you’ve had enough meat today,” Yuzu says, because being blunt as a truck only works in some situations, and this isn’t one of them. Yuzu’s very existence is a huge part of the problem right now -- not a cause, certainly, and neither of them would make that mistake -- but inextricably related. Getting Yuzuesque at Shoma right now is hardly what Shoma needs.

Yuzu doesn’t really know what Shoma  _ does _ need, but at least he’s got good guesses on what he doesn’t.

“Enough meat?” Shoma sounds incredulous. “You did not call me at twelve fucking thirty at night from halfway across the globe to ask me if I have eaten enough today, Hanyu,” he sighs, and Yuzu clenches his teeth rather than spit out the response he wants to give.  Shoma only calls him Hanyu when he’s feeling sufficiently pissed off to be snide and sufficiently self-deprecating to pointedly remind them both of who Yuzu is. As if either of them can forget.

Particularly at times like this.  Yuzu exhales.

“They’re jerks,” Yuzu says, giving Shoma the respect of not fucking around with more transparent pretenses. “They’re jerks, they’ve always been jerks, they were jerks when they booed me and they were still jerks when they cheered me the next year. They were jerks when they laughed politely when Takahashi-senshu said he was coming back for competition and they were jerks when they started criticising him for  _ only _ having two quads back. They’re jerks now and they’ll be jerks when I’m long gone and you’re still landing quad flips on their crusty asses.”

“That’s-- that’s an unsafe landing surface,” Shoma mutters, and Yuzu can hear the tears that Shoma’s refusing to let fall. At least he’s gotten his point across. 

Yuzu doesn’t often cuss this much, though he certainly  _ feels _ like doing so quite frequently. But he usually holds back. Not right now. Shoma needs to know exactly how upset Yuzu is, and that means no restraint.

“Yeah, it is, you’re right,” he responds. “Nevermind then, don’t even give them that honor.”

“Honor of being landed quads on?” Shoma asks. He still sounds pissed as hell, tired as hell, but also - just a little - exhaustedly exasperated with Yuzu’s Yuzuness. 

It’s a start.

“Yes! Not many get to experience that honor.”

“I think I’ll pass,” Shoma yawns.

Yuzu realizes that he’s been anxiously pacing for the entire conversation so far, and sits down on his sofa to make himself stop.

“You know, I saw a quote,” he begins, and Shoma groans, and Yuzu can hear some shuffling fabric. He thinks Shoma may have shoved his phone under his pillow. So Yuzu speaks extra loudly,

“IT SAID THAT YOU SAID THAT--

Until the shuffle repeats itself in hurried reverse.

“You said that results determined the result,” Yuzu says at normal volume. He’s intentionally paraphrasing, even though the exact wording is still chewing its way through his brain.  “And I wanted to say I’m proud of you for learning how scoring works.”

“Fuck  _ off _ , Hanyu,” Shoma snaps, and now he sounds mad, but Yuzu didn’t poke this bear for no reason, so he barrels on quickly, to get to his point before Shoma’s fuse runs out.

“Of  _ course  _ the results show what the circumstances were. I got a zero at Nationals last year, Sho, and I’m getting another big fat zero this year. And that is a  _ fact _ . What I might have done doesn’t matter. I mean, hell, what I ‘might’ have done at NHK is up for debate too, isn’t it?”

Shoma grunts. An acknowledgement that he’s still listening, if reluctantly. Then Yuzu hears a sigh, and the beep of Shoma’s other phone. He’s probably booted up a game. That’s a good thing. Shoma needs to divide his attention, sometimes, in order to handle things. Especially heavy emotional things. And Yuzu’s not exactly pulling punches right now.  More importantly, if the game is out, then Shoma’s taking action - even just small ones - to help himself feel better. And he unmuted it, to let Yuzu know that he’s doing so. 

The game noises are a message.   _ ‘m trying my best. _

Yuzu thinks maybe it was okay that he called after all. He exhales, steadying himself, and keeps going.

“I’m not there. You are. That means you were readier today than I was. You are more deserving of the championship than me because you’ve  _ showed up _ and  _ yes _ that matters, Shoma, you know how much it matters.

“Practices matter, training and conditioning matter, being careful enough to be able to still be on your feet when the competition shows up matters. Competition isn’t just the two minutes and the four minutes. Sho, competition relies on everything before it.  My everything is a busted ankle right now. Yours isn’t.”

Shoma makes a noise, and Yuzu talks over it, squeezing one hand over his eyes to try to block the memory of Shoma’s grimace during the short. It doesn’t work, but Shoma doesn’t have to know that.

“La la la,  _ not listening _ , Sho, and I’m not asking either. Don’t wanna know. Whatever it is, you’re there.”

Silence, broken only by the quiet beeps of Shoma’s game. Yuzu lets it stretch, gives Shoma the time he needs to take in, process, and respond to everything Yuzu’s just thrown at him. While he waits, he listens to the beeps and blips and wonders what game it is Shoma’s playing. He listens to Shoma’s breathing, how it steadies and deepens and slows. Relaxation, centeredness. Yuzu feels another pang, another blade between his ribs, but this one’s much more pleasant than the one from an hour ago. This one is a longing, a wistfulness. 

Yuzu knows what the weight of Shoma’s head on his belly feels like, when they’re lounged together and Shoma’s got his game propped over his head in both hands. He remembers the little movements of muscle around Shoma’s eyes, the occasional furrow of his brow, and the uniquely soothing feeling of carding his hand through Shoma’s hair while he plays his game and Yuzu reads a book on his iPod.

They’re half a world apart, and it still almost feels like they could roll over, scoot around, settle in. Like that comfort is only a few small motions away: scooting over, tucking their bodies together, making sure Shoma’s close enough to an outlet for his charger cord to reach.

“Love you,” Shoma murmurs finally, tucking it into the comfortable silence after the descending fanfare that tells Yuzu that Shoma just flubbed a level in his game. But he sounds calm, and maybe - just maybe - the furrow in his brow has smoothed. Yuzu can’t see, so he chooses to believe that it has.

“I love you too, Shoma,” Yuzu whispers back, keeping his voice soft to steer around the giant lump in his throat. Anything louder than a whisper would get snagged on that, and Yuzu doesn’t want to do anything to disturb this quiet, soft moment. 

“Call me tomorrow?” Shoma doesn’t specify why, or when. It doesn’t really need to be said.

Yuzu smiles, teeth digging into his lip. “Absolutely. I’ll cut class to call you. Brian will be so mad. All the rest of his hair will fall out and I’ll make a little teddy bear out of it, or maybe a teddy bear sweater.”

“Goodnight, Yuzu,” says Shoma, and his voice has reached full exasperation, now that Yuzu’s started in on his surrealist-absurdist end of call rambles. Yuzu hates hanging up, and Shoma knows that.  He chuckles, very soft, almost not a noise. But Yuzu hears it. It’s the one that has a small smile tucked into its corner. It’s the chuckle that means that Shoma’s  _ smiling  _ as he ends the call.

Yuzu tucks his phone away in his pocket. Picks up his earphones - not damaged - and settles them back into place.

Music for today’s subway commute to the rink, Yuzu ponders. He flips through his playlists, scrolling fast, until the right one snags his eye.

Perfect.

  
  


_ There’s a lady who’s sure _

_ All that glitters is gold _

_ And she’s buying a stairway to heaven _

 

_ * _

**Author's Note:**

> don't expect to see much of me until all the nervewracking WAITING for results at JNats and RusNats this weekend is over and done with. X_X;
> 
> i'm capra, and thank you for reading.


End file.
